


Carve Our Names in Hearts Into the Warhead

by cherie_morte



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Nuclear Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherie_morte/pseuds/cherie_morte
Summary: Summary:AU:After years of training to be a U.S. missileer, Jared finds himself locked in a missile silo underground with only one other pissed off crew member to keep him company. There he and Jensen wait (and wait and wait) for a message from their superiors: an order that will either announce the end of World War III and tell them to return to life on the surface or leave them with the responsibility of sending a retaliatory missile to the enemy, ensuring that no one makes it out alive on either side except for those safely contained in fallout shelters.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of my 2014 [spn_j2_bigbang](http://spn-j2-bigbang.livejournal.com/) originally posted [here](http://infatuated-ink.livejournal.com/91222.html). This story is 150% based on the genius of Josh Ritter's songwriting. If you've never heard [The Temptation of Adam](http://youtu.be/kvCeCVmJAUA), judge your own life choices. I give Josh all credit for any positive qualities this story may have and fully take the blame for any and all badness. I am not a nuclear physicist, nor do I know really anything at all about nuclear war except what I learned in my history of the Cold War courses in undergrad—don't expect solid science. I do my best to work around my own gaping lack of knowledge, but there will inevitably be places where you have to take a leap of faith with me. Also, I know that Twinkies do not actually have indefinite shelf lives. But it's a fucking apocalypse fic and I wanted to perpetuate myth through my love of saturated fat, so, like, just roll with it, yo. Twinkies are the very stuff of romance. I got really, really lucky to have this story claimed by [cassiopeia7](http://cassiopeia7.livejournal.com/), not only because she did [oodles of fantastic art](http://cassiopeia7.livejournal.com/429255.html) that fit the story's atmosphere perfectly, but also because she knows a thing or two about the USAF and corrected me on my gross mistakes.

Introductions are brief when a moment of delay is the difference between safety and spontaneous combustion. All Jared knows before they move in together is that the guy’s name is Jensen.

He’s just about the most beautiful thing Jared’s ever seen as he shoves his way through the hatch. Jared lets him go first, takes in the view, and follows him, pulling the door closed behind them. Forever, maybe.

Jared smiles appreciatively as Jensen settles his bags down in the hall by the entrance. He turns on the charm, saying in a playfully smarmy voice, “If this was the Cold War, we could keep each other warm."

Jensen doesn’t seem to think Jared’s nearly as cute as he was hoping. “If this was a Cold War, we wouldn’t be in a fucking missile silo,” he replies, gorgeous features contorting with annoyance.

It’s going to be a long apocalypse.

"There's only one bed, but it looks pretty damn comfortable," Jared announces, wiping his hands together as he exits the bedroom. It's the last place he had left to inspect, and now that he's seen the entire launch facility, he's feeling pretty good about this 'end of the world' thing. The living quarters are sweet. Anyway, he'll certainly be better off than he was a few hours ago, when it was looking likely he'd die in his shitty apartment once the last giant flash of engineered fire finally hit. "We can switch off. I'll flip a coin for first go at it?"

"It's yours."

Jared looks back into the room uncertainly. "You mean I can have the first night or—?"

"You can have the fucking bed."

Jensen is not a man of many words, and the ones he does manage are all cut short and cold. He's the one and only drawback so far, and Jared refuses to let the fact that 50% of the surviving human population has a stick up its ass bring him down. He's saved. He's got a fridge full of never-expiring meat. If Jensen wants to let him have the giant, fluffy bed and spare him every other night in a cot, Jared will take that, too.

"Suit yourself," Jared says, maintaining his chipper tone as he picks up his bags and carries them into the room.

He comes back out and finds that Jensen hasn't moved an inch. He's still sitting at the control station, staring blankly at the big red button.

"Seems weird they only equipped the place with one proper bedroom. I mean, they knew they'd have to have at least two people in here. Figure if they can manage a greenhouse underground they should be able to swing another bed. There's a nursery, for crying out loud."

Jensen fiddles with some gears, and Jared thinks he's being ignored until finally he hears, "It was built for a family. To repopulate the Earth once it was safe to go back up."

"Oh," Jared says. "Makes sense, I guess. Though it's a bit odd they took all that trouble and then chose to send in two guys."

"They didn't," Jensen replies, turning his chair so he's facing Jared. He looks up, right into Jared's eyes. "Just stop talking."

Jared shrugs and heads for the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. He's not letting this guy get to him on Day One.

"Do you think you could do it?"

Jensen doesn't turn from his work. It's a completely different day, but the guy's still sitting hunched over in the exact same place and pose as when Jared last saw him. Jared decides right then and there to think of him as a very attractive piece of furniture instead of a bitchy bunkmate. "Do what?" he asks, though he clearly couldn't care less what Jared's talking about.

"Press the button," Jared clarifies, taking the seat next to Jensen at the control station. "Wipe out half the world."

Jensen gives Jared a glare for sitting, as if it's not just as much Jared's work to monitor this damn equipment as it is Jensen's. "That's what we're down here for," he replies. "If you think you can't do it, you shouldn't have said yes."

"No, no." Jared gives him a small shrug. "I mean, I'm pretty sure. But, like, it's a huge thing to do, right? You aren't even a little worried when the time comes you won't be able to?"

Jensen's expression tightens even more (Jared didn't think that was actually possible). "My world already ended. I don't care what happens to everyone else's."

Jared wants to ask what the hell that means, but Jensen doesn't seem like the type who sits around swapping origin stories.

Those first two days basically set the stage for the first two weeks they spend underground. Jensen doesn't say anything—ever—and trying to talk to him makes Jared feel like he's crazy. Like he's trying to converse with the walls. Actually, it's worse than that, because the walls at least have the decency to talk back. They respond to his questions, and Jared's even programmed the system to say good morning when he turns the station on. This is how desperate he is for conversation.

Not that he's complaining. There's a good chance he'd be deep fried by now if he were topside, so comparatively, this isn't so bad. And Jensen does all the work, which makes Jared wonder if he thinks Jared's a moron, but hey, it's not the most exciting stuff in the world, so he'll play dumb if that's how Jensen wants to do it.

But the standard remains: uneasy silence most of the time, nasty looks from Jensen when he can't get away with blatantly ignoring Jared, and a whole lot of nothing to do but read and play his guitar.

Sometimes Jared spends his entire day cooking, because their kitchen is insanely well-stocked, but it sucks not to have anyone to share with when he's done. Jensen doesn't even pretend to give any of Jared's food a chance. He looks at it like it's poisoned and Jared's crazy for eating it. Jared is a very good cook, thank you very much, and Jensen can just go fuck himself.

Somewhere between the second and third week of living in the silo, the sound of crying wakes Jared. If he weren't hearing it so clearly, or if there were anyone else down here he could assign the noise to, he would never believe it was Jensen. Cold, cruel, callous Jensen. Jensen the ice queen. Jared was half-convinced the guy was a robot.

But the crying is unmistakable and so painfully human it makes Jared uncomfortable. Makes him feel like he's the callous one. He's never heard anyone cry like this, so open and broken. He didn't think this kind of crying was possible.

He creeps across the hall, from his bedroom to the launch control room where Jensen spends every waking moment, and where he's now also set up his cot. He looks in from the door, because he's still expecting to find Jensen watching a movie or listening to some incredibly depressing shit on his personal sound system. But no, it's just Jensen, sitting up on his cot with his back to the door. Jared can make out that he's got his face buried in his hands.

He wishes there were something he could do, but he doesn't make a sound. He doesn't try to comfort Jensen, because what would he say? "Hey, I know you hate me, but you kind of woke me up, so wanna talk it out?"

No, he stands there watching what he knows he shouldn't be seeing just long enough to promise himself he'll tolerate Jensen's bad attitude a little better tomorrow.

Jared walks into the control room the next morning bright and early. He smiles at Jensen as he takes the second chair by the window and drinks a sip of the coffee he just brewed. Jensen looks like he's been up for hours, and Jared can't help wondering if he got back to sleep at all.

"I guess it's gonna be eggs and ham this morning," Jared says. "Well, every morning, pretty much. Not that I'm not a huge fan of the genetically engineered produce and all that, but I do kind of wish they'd stocked this place with some shitty breakfast cereals. You know, the kind that are all sugar. I could really go for some Cocoa Puffs right about now."

"I don't care what you have for breakfast, Jared," Jensen replies. "Why don't you go eat it and let me get some work done?"

"I did eat. I wasn't talking about my breakfast," Jared says. "I was talking about yours. It's in the kitchen. If…if you want it, that is. I can definitely find room for it if you don't. I just don't think I've seen you eat anything I would actually classify as a meal since we got down here, so…"

Jensen turns his chair toward Jared and blinks a few times, very slowly. Definitely possibly a robot. "You made me breakfast?"

Jared shrugs. "Yeah, well, one of us has to keep you alive, right? You're not exactly doing a bang up job." He puts his hand over Jensen's on the keyboard and tries to give him an encouraging smile. "Seriously, Jensen. I swear it's good food. I'm not going to kill you, I need someone to do all the hard stuff so I can sit around and scratch my balls all day. Just let me run the scans this morning and go eat. The work will still be here when you finish."

Jensen looks at his hand for a long, long time before he finally seems to decide he's okay with it. He smiles dimly and nods and begins to leave, but he stops at the doorway, says, "Hey, Jared."

Jared looks back at him.

"Thanks."

He smiles and watches Jensen walk out and thinks _progress_.

Jensen is obsessed with crossword puzzles. It was good planning, Jared will admit, to bring them down here. He's got a stack in the corner of the rec room—or maybe the living room? It would be a living room if this were a house, but Jared's not sure thinking of a missile silo as _home_ is a healthy way to go through this, so he takes his cue from the blueprints of the place and settles for calling it the rec room—that's about four feet high, and he's already gone through two books since they got down here.

Ever since Jared made him breakfast, Jensen sits on the sofa a few feet away from the armchair Jared favors and works at them. He still doesn't say a goddamn thing and mumbles or grunts responses when Jared tries talking to him, but that's okay. Jared's beginning to suspect Jensen is only two parts asshole and one part nice guy with no social skills.

"What's a five letter word for 'apocalypse'?" Jensen asks out of the blue.

Jared thinks it over for about a minute, then laughs at how obvious it should have been from the jump. "W-W-I-I-I."

Jensen's face is hilarious to watch as it goes from 'huh?' to 'duh' to possibly the first real smile Jared's every seen on him. It's amazing, what that smile does. The frown lines around his lips disappear, and his eyes bunch up in the corners instead. It's almost like the sun breaks out through the window for a moment, which is ridiculous because they're miles underground and the sun might as well not exist anymore for all Jared's ever gonna see of it again.

"Clever," he says as he writes it down. "Very clever."

"Does it fit?" Jared asks. Not that he expects the conversation to keep going, but he'll do his part.

Jensen nods. "Only cross is with the second I. 27 down, large dog breed. IRISH. Knew that one. There was a lady who lived on the block I grew up on with one of those wolfhounds. Holy crap, that thing was taller than me until I was like eleven."

"Man," Jared says, plucking absently at the strings on the guitar in his lap, listening to see if anything sounds good, "I wish we could have a dog down here. Only thing I miss, dogs. But I guess asking for an underground park to walk one in would have been pushing it."

Jensen huffs out a kind of dismissive laugh, and Jared thinks that'll be it. But then he bites his lip and sets his book aside, holding his page with the pencil he'd been using and giving Jared a curious once-over. "What're you working on?"

"Not really working," Jared says, ducking his head away from the scrutiny. "Sorry if my playing's annoying you. I can stop. I've got plenty of books to—"

"No," Jensen says. "I didn't mean to pry. I just…you sounded pretty good."

It takes a whole lot of restraint to school his features instead of staring at Jensen with boggling eyes and his mouth hanging open. Jared briefly wonders if it was sarcastic, if Jensen is fucking with him, but it sounded like a real compliment, so he smiles and says, "Thanks."

For an awkward moment, the room sits quietly around them, until finally Jared decides that whatever they had going for a minute there is over.

He looks back down to the sheet of scribbled notes in front of him. Jared gets so distracted that he almost doesn’t hear the soft little question Jensen asks. "Will you play something for me?"

Shocked, Jared looks up again. "Uh, yeah. Okay. Any requests?"

Jensen shakes his head. "Just miss hearing music. Whatever you think I'll like. It doesn't have to be one of your songs if you don't feel comfortable sharing."

The bunker has a pretty extravagant sound system and more music stored on the drive than Jared even knows what to do with. He's never heard Jensen listen to a single song, so the news that he misses music is a little confusing. A part of him wants to say 'then why don't you play some?' but he's glad to have a captive audience, so he smiles and strums the notes to 'When the Levee Breaks.'

Jensen starts cracking up as soon as he figures out the song and after counting through the first verse with his foot tapping on the floor, he begins singing. He knows (almost) all the lyrics, and his voice is pretty good, deep and rich and…more than a little country.

"Good song choice," Jensen says as soon as they finish. "Very poignant."

"You sing!" It doesn’t sound as stupid in his head. He's kind of just amazed Jensen does anything but calculate and glare. It's almost like he's a real human being.

Jensen grins. "Well, you didn't seem like you were gonna do it."

"You don't want to hear me sing, trust me."

"I'll take your word for it," Jensen replies, still smiling. "You're good with the guitar, though. Better than most guys who think they can play the guitar, at least."

Jared laughs. "I think that might be a compliment, so I'll take it. I used to want to be a musician in high school. You know, like every other teenage boy on the planet. But after a while I realized the guy with a guitar thing doesn't work so well when you can't sing."

"You still write songs, though," Jensen says, pointing to the sheets of music Jared has spread out on the coffee table in front of him. "And I can hear you playing them from the lab. They're not bad."

"Do you play?" Jared asks, holding the guitar out.

"A little bit," Jensen replies, reaching to take it from Jared. He immediately starts tuning it, which makes Jared suspect that he's probably just being modest.

He watches as Jensen prepares for whatever he's about to play and says, "Are you from Texas originally?"

Jensen nods. "Right outside Dallas."

"Huh." Jared sits back in his chair and catalogues Jensen again. From his spiky, light brown hair to the socks poking out of the bottom of his flight suit. Not checking him out (not that he doesn't do that all the time, because bitchy or not, Jensen is a marvel to behold), just wondering what other seemingly obvious tidbits he's missed in the last two weeks. "You don't sound like it when you talk."

"Been working and living on the east coast for a long time," he says. "Ashamed to say it's gotten to me." Jensen glances up at him. "And you're from San Antonio. Still lived there, too, up until you got called down here."

Jared nods. "How'd you know that?"

"I read your file," Jensen admits. "When they told me who they were sending down, they let me look it over to approve. Not that there was much time to really find anyone else. You were the closest person with the minimum training, so."

"You approved of me?" Jared asks. "Not, uh, not to sound whiny, but that kind of surprises me."

Jensen's expression dims a little and he looks down at his lap. "I didn't honestly care all that much at that point. Wasn't gonna be the right person no matter—" He stops himself, sighs, and then looks up to Jared with a surprisingly sincere look on his face. "I'm sorry for how I've treated you since we got down here. I know I've been a dick."

"I didn't really make the best first impression," Jared replies, trying to give him an out.

Jensen shakes his head. "You were kidding around. I think it would have been funny but…well, I was dead set on hating you. Anything you said would have been about the same, and I get that that's fucked up. It's not your fault. You've done nothing but try to be nice to me, and I guess I'm trying to thank you. For not holding my shitty attitude against me."

Jared licks his lips, not really sure where to go from here. He wants to ask what Jensen is making such an effort not to say so bad it almost hurts, but he knows he's got no right to pry. At any rate, he's glad the only other person left on the face of the planet is not, in fact, a robot.

"You gonna play me something or what?" he finally asks, reaching out to slap at Jensen's leg encouragingly.

Jensen grins, accepting the peace offering without further comment. "You know 'Angeles'?"

Things are actually going pretty well for the next week or so. Comparatively, at least. Jensen's taken to spending a few hours every day in the rec room with Jared, either doing his crossword puzzles quietly in the corner while Jared reads or swapping songs on the guitar. Sometimes, he even makes up lyrics for Jared's songs, and even though most of them are playful, they aren't all that bad.

He's not the nightmare roommate Jared had taken him for, but every now and then, he relapses. Jared will say something he thinks is totally inoffensive and Jensen will get upset or walk out without even telling Jared what he did wrong. Sometimes Jared will look up from his book and Jensen will be staring off into space, crossword forgotten on his lap and a frown tugging down at his lips.

One day, Jared finds Jensen in the lab with a tense expression on his face, his hand resting over the big red launch button and his eyes fixed on the communication board as if he's expecting a message any moment.

Jared's stomach drops. There are only two messages they can receive. Any radio waves could give their location away if the enemy has somehow infiltrated their systems, so Jared and Jensen have been trained to accept the fact that there are only two scenarios in which the government will risk contacting them:

1\. The war is over. False alarm. Everything is settled and no need to blow up Europe. You guys can come up now.

There is no way in hell that less than a month after San Francisco things are all peachy on the surface. Which leaves:

2\. Game over. Press the button. Mutually assured destruction. There's no going back to the surface, not until the radiation has had years and years to clear.

Jared's never been an optimist. He's never cared much for the world or the idiots running it, the ones who got them into this mess to begin with. So he didn't realize just how much he was hoping, deep down, that they were going to figure out a better solution until this moment.

"Jensen," he says softly, moving into the launch control room and sitting down, careful not to jostle Jensen. God forbid he ends the world by accident. "What's—uh, what's up? Did we get an order?"

Jensen gives Jared a distracted shake of his head and doesn't move a single muscle. He's quiet for a long time and then he says, "Something should have happened by now, right? After San Francisco. We should have launched weeks ago."

"Maybe the diplomats actually learned how to be diplomatic," Jared says with a snicker. "About damn time, right?"

"No." Jensen's voice is cold, as cold as it was before he started warming to Jared, and Jared's more than a little disappointed to hear it. "We should have launched. We can't just sit here with our thumbs up our asses after what they did. It's not fucking right. What the hell are they waiting for?"

Jared stares in disbelief. "You _want_ to launch?"

"I want to know they're not getting away with it."

"I'm sure we've retaliated. There are measured ways to respond without being the ones to wipe out—"

"Fuck _measured_ ," Jensen growls. "I want them to pay for what they did."

"They didn't wipe us off the map, Jen. If we launch this thing, their whole continent is as good as gone."

Jensen's expression calms the slightest bit, but he's still shaking his head. "It's not about how much land they covered, Jared. There were good people. They had families. They were _loved_. Those people weren't soldiers, they weren't politicians, they had nothing to do with any of this. Those bastards deserve to—"

"You're talking about doing the same thing right back at them," Jared replies in his most soothing voice, putting his hand over Jensen's and moving it slowly away from the button. "There are maybe a hundred people over there that had anything to do with what happened last month. There are millions more who had no idea, who were appalled by it. Good, innocent people who are just trying to live their lives. We would be just as bad as they are if we launched this thing, only on a bigger scale."

Jensen swallows hard and turns to Jared, and Jared pretends not to see the tear that slips down his cheek before he wipes it away. "I want them to pay. I wish I knew somehow that we didn't just let it happen."

He shakes his head, reaching out to put a hand on Jensen's shoulder. They're still not exactly what Jared would call friendly, and Jared has no idea what Jensen's so fucked up over, but he's starting to get an idea. He knows what he's about to say is risky, but the way Jensen's thinking has him all kinds of nervous, and he figures it's better Jensen be pissed at him than ready to end the world. "Launching that missile won't get you back what you lost."

Jensen rises to his feet, his hand balling into a fist as he raises it. Jared closes his eyes tight and braces himself for the hit, but it doesn't come. He finally looks up and sees Jensen glaring down at him. "You don't know what you're talking about," he says. "You have no idea what I lost."

Jared stands and lowers Jensen's arm, bracing his hands on Jensen's shoulders to steady him. "I know that whoever they were, they wouldn't want you to do this because of them."

Jensen looks angry again for a split second and then suddenly he's got his hands bunched in Jared's t shirt, his face pressed against Jared's chest, and he's openly sobbing.

After standing there awkwardly for about half a minute, Jared stops expecting that he'll figure out what to do and where to put his hands and just does what feels natural. He hugs his arms around Jensen's shaking shoulders and puts one hand in his hair, pulling Jensen in closer.

"Shh," he says. "It's okay, man. It's okay."

"It's not," Jensen whispers into the wet fabric his face is pressed against. "It's really not."

"I know," Jared replies. "I'm sorry, Jensen. I'm so, so sorry."

"They promised me." Jensen's voice is so quiet Jared almost can't hear him, but he can see the white of Jensen's knuckles from how hard he's holding on. "When they called me to come down here. The last thing Jim said to me, he pulled me aside, and he promised I would get to push that button. He said it wouldn't be more than a week, and it's been almost a month."

"He had no right to promise you that. He doesn't get to decide. This kind of thing is in more than one person's hands, and he's not exactly the top of the food chain."

"But he promised," Jensen says. "That's the only reason I came. They could have brought anyone else down here. I don't even want to live I just want…"

"You want revenge. And I get that. But revenge won't fix anything." Jared gives him a weak smile. "It's a good thing that they haven't sent us the command yet. It's good. It means there's still a chance for everyone up there. It means a whole lot of people aren't going through what you are right now."

Jensen nods grudgingly and pulls away just a little bit. He's still circled in Jared's arms, and Jared's not going to make him give that up if it's bringing him any comfort, even if it feels more than a little weird.

"I used to be the one trying to talk people down from making rash decisions." He finally takes a few steps away from Jared, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "I've never hated anyone. I've never wanted to hurt people. But I don't know what else I'm supposed to do."

Jared wishes he had an answer for that, or any goddamn idea how to help Jensen at all. But the best he can do is offer a distraction. He pats Jensen on the back and puts on a less somber tone. "You had breakfast yet today?"

Jensen shakes his head.

"That's what I thought," Jared tells him, steering him out of the launch room and toward the kitchen. It's a good day to keep Jensen as far away from the work station—and that button—as possible. "C'mon. Best way to start the day. I'll make French toast."

Jared wakes up the next morning with a box of Cocoa Puffs sitting on his nightstand. There's no note or explanation as to how it got there, but he can't help remembering complaining to Jensen about their lack of crappy breakfast cereals a few weeks ago, and he laughs as he sits up and reaches for it.

He walks out without even bothering to put a shirt on, too excited about the sugar high he has coming to remember decent standards of dress. Jensen's at the sink washing off the plates from his own breakfast, but he smiles and cocks an eyebrow when he sees Jared walking in.

"Where?" he asks, raising the box and shaking it.

Jensen huffs out a laugh. "I see you found my 'sorry I got snot on your shirt' offering."

"Where?" Jared repeats. Okay, so he's a little caveman in the morning. Nobody's perfect.

Jensen smirks and inclines his head toward the pantry. "I'll show you."

He leads Jared past all the shelves Jared's already familiar with, and then he stops in front of a door Jared knows leads to a small cabinet full of laundry detergent, mops, brooms, and a bunch of cleaning solution. Then Jensen reaches past one of the broom handles and pulls on a compartment Jared hadn't noticed before and—holy shit.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he says in an awed tone that's only half a joke, if he's being honest.

Jensen laughs again. "I'm going to regret showing you this, aren't I?"

"Probably," Jared answers, reaching in and grabbing a few of the closest packages. "Candy! Oh god, oh god." He turns one box over in his hands and nearly starts jumping up and down with excitement. "Jensen! Jensen, these haven't existed since I was a little kid. How the hell did you get a whole box?"

Jensen pries the box of Twinkies delicately out of Jared's hands. "You can't survive an apocalypse without some Twinkies," he says. "It's a rule of nature. I had to pull some strings, sure, but—"

"Why did you hide this stuff from me? You are so mean."

Jensen gives him a lopsided smile. "Wasn't hiding it from you. This stuff was supposed to be for the kids. It was hidden from them."

"What kids?" Jared asks with a laugh, and he can't shove the words back in fast enough.

Jensen's expression dims a little but not as much as Jared expects. "Wishful thinking. Or not, I guess. Just in case it ever came to the point where we did have to try to rebuild the population. I didn't want my kids to have to grow up without a few guilty pleasures."

"Jensen, I—" Jared sets the food down on a shelf and reaches out; Jensen brushes him off.

He smiles, but it's not the most convincing smile Jared's ever seen. "I guess you act enough like a kid that I should have kept this stuff hidden though, huh? No eating it all at once."

Jared shakes his head very seriously. "No, sir. I wouldn't waste it." He sends a longing look toward the Twinkies. "But maybe just one of those for each of us? I don't even remember what they tasted like."

Jensen seems to consider it, then he gives a light shrug and smiles at Jared. "We'll have dinner together tonight and then we can each have _one_ for dessert."

"Okay," Jared agrees with a grin. "That's fair enough."

Jensen leaves Jared in charge of deciding what's for dinner but makes a serviceable sous-chef throughout the day. They sit down to eat in the late afternoon with a bottle of red wine and are tired enough from all the cooking that the silence as they chew is more satisfied than awkward.

When they finish, Jensen offers to clean up. Jared stands by the sink and hands him plates as Jensen rinses and sets things on the drying rack.

"So, how did you end up here?" Jensen asks between toweling off a pan and sliding it back into the cabinet where it belongs. "Not many people willing to drop their lives with an hour's notice."

It hadn't been a hard decision. This is what Jared spent his life training for, ever since he got recruited in his third year of undergrad. He wanted to live, and, after being rejected in favor of some more experienced candidates, he thought he'd wasted all that effort training and was still gonna die the same as everyone.

He was watching the news, staring in terrified wonder at the coverage of San Francisco, when he got the call. Jim Beaver, head of the top secret Devil's Trap project, hadn't said much. He gave Jared coordinates and the meaning was implied. Be there and you're in. Who would have passed that up?

"Not even to avoid being cooked in a nuclear detonation?"

Jensen leans on the counter as he faces Jared, taking a sip from his wine. Jared can't help noticing that Jensen's eyes are just the slightest bit glassy, his lips wet from all the wine he's had. He's so hot it's actually hard to keep up with the conversation, and Jared wonders if this is supposed to feel like a date as much as it does. Dinner. Wine. A little conversation. He's got a few ideas about where the night could take them. "What about your family? Friends? There isn't anyone you're worried about up there?"

Jared shrugs. He's never been the kind of person who puts down roots. Not that he's unsociable—Jared's never had trouble making friends. He's just never had trouble moving on and leaving them behind, either. "My parents and I don't talk. Haven't in about eight years. Not since I came out to them, but we weren't all that close before then, so it's wasn't really a big deal."

Jensen frowns despite Jared's genuinely easy tone. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I never liked them much and they never really liked me. I don't even think me being gay bothered them so much as it gave them a convenient excuse to cut me out of their lives. Honestly, the most upsetting thing about it is that they got to keep the dogs."

Jensen laughs at that, but Jared can't help noticing that there's more to the way he's looking at Jared. He looks like he pities Jared, which is kind of unsettling considering it's usually the other way around. He can't stand the critical gaze Jensen has fixed on him, so he waves his hands dismissively between them, drawing Jensen's eyes away from his own. "Dude, seriously, I'm okay with it."

"I believe you," Jensen says, folding his arms over his chest. "I think that's very sad."

Jared snorts. "You think it's sad that I'm emotionally well-adjusted?"

"A little." Jensen looks down. "I'm not trying to be a dick or anything. I just—there isn’t _anyone_ you miss?"

The question kind of floors him. He thinks of Genevieve and Aldis, his buddies at work, and how maybe they're worried about him right now. He hadn't called to say goodbye. It hadn't even occurred to him. He thinks about the people up on the surface constantly: whether they're alive, whether he'll ever be able to rejoin them, but until this moment, he hadn't spared a single thought for any one specific person. Maybe…that's not as normal as he thought it was.

He goes on the defensive. "Well, what about you? You're here, aren't you?"

"My close friends and family all knew what I was preparing for. They've been expecting this since the war broke out." He bites his lip. "Doesn't mean I don't miss 'em like hell. Or that I'm not worried about them and they're not worried about me. But I said my goodbyes, at least."

Jared nods. "So this is what you wanted, then?"

Jensen looks away, at his wine glass, for a long, long time. He seems to be considering something. Finally he takes a long drink and sets the glass down before looking Jared square in the eye. "My wife was the brains of the operation. This whole thing—the warhead, the petty idea of blowing up a continent in retaliation—it always made me a little uncomfortable. I didn't understand back then. But she was fascinated, a scientist in every sense of the word, and every damn lab in the country wanted her. I was good enough, but really I just trotted at her heels. This was her dream, and she was mine. She even helped design the damn layout, chose all the furniture. She wanted it to be our home, she said."

Jared feels his eyes widen at the confession, and he watches the way Jensen's muscles tighten as he speaks, but he doesn't start crying, so that's a plus. Jared clears his throat. "She—she was in San Francisco when…?"

Jensen nods. "We were supposed to be at a conference that weekend. It was a big deal, you know? She had a paper to present, and then the stupidest goddamn thing happened. One of the pipes in our house burst. We couldn't leave it like that, but she was so disappointed. So I told her to go on without me and I'd meet her if it got fixed in time."

"Jesus," Jared mutters, stepping forward and putting his hand over one of Jensen's on the counter. "I'm so sorry."

"I was supposed to be there, too," Jensen says quietly. He's looking down at their hands, and his voice sounds thin. "I should have at least been with her. All I can think is that she was alone."

"That wouldn't have changed anything. It just would have meant you both would have—"

"I should be dead, Jared." He sounds so casual about it that it sends a chill down Jared's spine. "I spend most of my time wishing I was."

Jared squeezes his hand. "I'm glad you're not, if that's any consolation."

Jensen gives him a faint smile. "Yeah right. I spent the better part of this last month resenting you just for not being her. I shouldn't have come down here at all. It should have been a woman, so you could reproduce. I think they wanted me to back out for that reason, but I couldn't think straight through how badly I wanted to hurt someone as much as I was hurting. You, uh, you really saved me from that, because you were right. She fell in love with a guy who couldn't press that button. She wouldn't have wanted me to be like Jim and all those other hawks."

Jensen looks genuinely thankful, but Jared can't help resenting himself a little, too. God, this whole time he's been making stupid comments and observations about every aspect of the silo, filling up so much space that wasn't his to fill. All the while, every damn detail he pointed out must have just made Jensen miss her more. "I didn't realize you had so much history with this place. I…I've been a real idiot. I'm sorry."

Jensen shakes his head. "Don't be. I should have told you sooner. I'm just not used to talking about her like—I never used to have to say a damn thing. I'd tell people her name and they knew who my wife was. I spent so many years so happy just to be in her shadow. I can't accept that it's really gone."

And he'd thought maybe this was a date. It's fucking incredible, the depths of Jared's insensitivity toward Jensen, even after he vowed to be more considerate. Goes to show how shitty he is at reading people, but that hadn't ever bothered him until now. "Thank you. For telling me. I know this wasn't easy for you."

"I think it was good for me. Letting that out." Jensen passes his fingers over his lips and gives Jared a look that's so sincere Jared kind of feels humbled by it. "Look, I'm pretty beat. I think I'm gonna go to sleep."

Jared nods and watches him leave. It's not until he's in the room alone that Jared remembers the damn Twinkies that were supposed to be the point of this whole dinner. It feels wrong eating one now, alone and after Jensen had dropped such a bomb—and, wow, that was a poor choice of metaphor. Jared tucks the snacks back into their hiding place. He'll bring them out again on a happier occasion.

"Is that her?" Jared looks over Jensen's shoulder, at the picture Jensen's holding, as he takes his seat at the work station. The woman Jensen's thumb is stroking tenderly over has long black hair and a gorgeous smile. "She was very beautiful."

Jensen startles, like he hadn't even realized Jared was in the room, and looks like he's debating hiding the picture. "Yeah," he finally says.

"What was her name?" Jared asks, because it seemed like talking it out was pretty good for Jensen last night, and even though there are still dark circles under his eyes, Jensen doesn't look as run down as he usually does in the morning.

But apparently Jensen's not as open in the sober light of day. "I don't know that I feel comfortable sharing her with you yet."

"I understand," Jared says, even though he doesn't. How could he? "If…if you ever want to, I'll listen, okay?"

"Thanks, Jared." Jensen swallows a lump in his throat, then turns to look at Jared. "Do you think I could tuck her into the window there? I don't think she'd forgive me if I carried on this work without her."

Jensen waits for Jared's nod of consent before bending over the control board and settling the photograph into the corner where the Plexiglas and the metal surrounding it meet. Jared laughs when Jensen rolls his eyes at the picture as if he can hear her saying something snarky to him, and something like jealousy pings in his chest. He can tell how much Jensen loves her just from that exasperated expression. Jared's never loved anything like that.

Jensen's got friends. Jared thought he had friends but listening to Jensen on the rare occasion he'll get started telling stories from before they went under makes Jared realize he never really did.

There's Chris, for example, Jensen's best friend from college. Jensen knows every bone the guy's ever broken (not a small number, and Jared's sides nearly split as he laughs when Jensen tells him about the shit that brought them about), even the ones from before they met. Jared gets such an idea of Chris that he can picture him perfectly: short but powerful with long brown hair and what Jensen calls a 'sour lemon face.' Jared imagines the scar over his mouth from the time he and Jensen got into a drunken bar brawl over a hockey game ( _he deserved it, the bastard_ , Jensen tells him with a grin) and the rough texture of his hands from playing the guitar when he should have been studying ( _you two idiots would get along_ ).

Or Misha, a guy Jensen met in one of the labs he worked after graduating. Misha is an evil genius, according to Jensen ( _complete megalomaniac, it terrifies me that he works on nuclear weapons_ ) who wore the same outfit every day (trench coat, blue tie, white shirt, black pants, every. single. day.) and would secretly do nice things for people when they weren't looking, then deny, deny, deny.

And then there's her—Jensen still hasn't told Jared her name, and he doesn't think Jensen ever will. He doesn't talk about her very much, unlike the others, but Jared feels like he knows her nonetheless. He meets a new part of her every day. The careful deliberation that went into furnishing the silo around him; she made this dump into something that feels more like a home to Jared than the one he grew up in ever did. She was brilliant and driven as hell; Jared goes digging into the research filed away on the systems he runs when Jensen's not in the lab and wonders if a brain like this could ever slow down enough to sleep. He knows she must have been something else beyond all that, that there's a personality so explosive it would give the missile in the next room a run for its money. And, for all Jared wishes she were here instead of him, he envies her. He only has to look at Jensen to see the crater she left behind. There's nothing he can study that will let Jared uncover that side of her; he'll never know what you have to do to make someone love you like that. Jared never felt inadequate until he met her.

When Jensen starts telling a story about one of his friends, Jared can guess pieces of where it's going just based on what he knows about them. Chris is going to start a fight with the worst possible person, and the story probably ends with Steve having to bail him and Jensen ( _completely innocent, yet again, except for how bad my choice in friends is_ ) out of jail. If it starts with Misha, the chances are good it's going to end in at least three small fires. Jensen's little sister's name (Mac, he calls her, short for Mackenzie, which is short for 'the Dark Lord of Chaos') need only be invoked for Jared to begin trying to guess the bad idea she had this time and how the hell she talked Jensen and his big brother Josh into going along with it (Jared's just surprised their parents never killed any of them).

When it's Jared's turn to tell a story, he feels stilted. Like an idiot who wasted the one life he got. He knows that Genevieve can do seemingly impossible math in her head without even having to pause, but he never asked where she's from or if she has a boyfriend or what her favorite color is. Aldis can type over 200 words in a minute, and Jared's never seen him make a mistake, but he never paid attention to the guy's drink order when they went out after work, and he doesn't know if Aldis likes what he does for a living or if he wanted to be a firefighter as a kid. Jared's neighbor Adrianne has six cats and at least three boyfriends, but he can't name any of them. He feels like he knows Jensen's friends better than he's ever known anyone for himself.

Until Jensen.

If he had met Jensen four months ago, he would have done his damnedest to take Jensen home, fuck him, and then never would have thought on him again. He would have missed out on everything that is Jensen—the scratch of his voice when he's tired and the ridiculously juvenile sense of humor ( _dick jokes are_ always _funny, Jared_ ) and that unbreakable loyalty that Jared finds so beautiful and so impossible to wrap his head around.

It should be awful, he thinks, being in so small a space with only one other person for months on end and with no termination date to look forward to. They should want to kill each other by now. At first it was like that, but now every day that passes makes Jared crave Jensen's company more.

And he can't help wondering: how many people as amazing as this did he blow off in his life? Would he have been as delighted by any of those anonymous guys he fucked if he'd given them a chance? Could he have loved someone the way Jensen loved his wife? He doesn't even know if he wants that, if he ever wants to care about someone enough to miss them like this, but he's willing to bet Jensen wouldn't trade knowing her for the easy emotional detachment Jared used to think was such an asset to him.

"The stars," Jared says after a long, thoughtful silence.

Jensen looks up from the pork chops they're having for dinner. "Huh?"

"My best friends," Jared says. "We go way back."

"To the start of the universe, I bet," Jensen says with a smirk.

Jared gasps and puts a hand on his face. "Does my age show?"

Jensen laughs, and Jared shrugs. "That's all I've got to offer. Ever since I was a kid, I spent every clear night watching the stars. I had them memorized. All the constellations that would appear and in what season. You'd think they all look the same, but I could tell them apart. I knew their names. If one died out, I bet I would have noticed. I would have missed it."

He thinks it must sound stupid, so incredibly, unspeakably stupid, to Jensen and his years of stored up intimacies with all the people he's ever loved. But it's the closest thing Jared has, he realizes, a little ashamed by it. Jensen doesn't take it as a joke like Jared expected. He looks serious when Jared meets his eyes. "Must have been hard, coming down here. Knowing you'd never see them again."

"Yeah," Jared admits. "I guess it was."

Jensen doesn't say much else through dinner and disappears into the launch room after. He refuses to come out until Jared knocks on his door the next day, because he's worried Jensen's obsessing over that button again.

He opens the door but only by a crack. "Hey, yeah?"

"Uh, dude, there's dinner on the table. You've been in there for almost a day."

"Yes," Jensen says with a nod. He looks back into the room but doesn't open the door any more, and then gives Jared a nervous glance. "I need half an hour longer."

He can see that the lights are off inside, and it's just a tad too weird. Jared tries to push the door open further, but Jensen doesn't budge. "What are you up to, man?"

"Half an hour," Jensen insists, and then he shuts the door in Jared's face.

After about twenty minutes, Jensen comes out and sits down at the table as if everything is perfectly normal. He eats and he keeps up the usual banter with Jared, so Jared doesn't push it until they're finishing cleaning up and Jensen disappears into the pantry. He comes back out holding two Twinkies, a bottle of wine, and what looks like a picnic blanket.

Jared just raises an eyebrow.

"Come here," Jensen says, angling his head toward the lab. "I want to show you something."

Jared follows quietly and watches Jensen set the blanket down on the ground between the work station and his cot. There's just hardly enough space for it.

"Sit," Jensen says, pointing to the makeshift picnic. "Or, better, lie down on your back and look up."

Jared obeys and watches Jensen cross the room. He turns off the lights, and suddenly the ceiling comes to life. Jared's breath catches in his throat. It's spring. It's the night sky in spring. The same sky Jared would be looking at right now if he was lying like this in the park he used to go to alone every night.

He's not alone now. Jensen lies down next to him. "I know it's not the same, but I hope I got close."

"It's perfect," Jared says, which isn't true because Virgo has one star too many and Lupus is a fucking mess. But that just makes it more perfect, somehow. Jared feels oddly close to crying. "How did you do this?"

"We had some glow-in-the-dark paint left over from marking off the catwalks," he says. "Didn't ever think we'd use it again, but I left it in the supply shed because it's so far out of the way I figured it would never bother anyone, right? So last night after you told me you missed the stars, I went to the library and found some star charts in there and…well, I tried, anyway. I would have done it in your room, but I think these are the only lights strong enough to really get the glow going once they're out."

Jared shakes his head even though he knows Jensen can't see it. "No, this is amazing. Thank you, Jensen."

Jensen wordlessly hands him a Twinkie, and Jared laughs when he sees the glowing residue on Jensen's hands as he unwraps his dessert and eats it. When they finish, they lie back, and Jared starts pointing out some of his favorite constellations, trying his best to help Jensen see the animals or objects they're supposed to represent (he doesn't).

At some point, Jensen puts his hand over Jared's. He doesn't say anything, just slides his hand there and holds it. The warm weight of his skin over Jared's feels like a thousand pounds of precious metal crushing down—too much of a good thing and it's killing him, because it's not his and he doesn’t know how to change that.

"I give up," Jensen says after a few hours, "I probably painted them wrong, because there's no way that's a lion."

Jared laughs. Leo is one of the few constellations that is exactly right. "I'll get you to see it eventually," he says, squeezing the hand that's still sitting inside of his own.

Jensen's quiet for a while, then says, "One day, after this is all over and we go back up, you can show me the real thing."

He climbs up onto his cot and says goodnight to Jared shortly after, but Jared doesn't go to his big comfy bed. He'd rather lie here, on the cold metal floor, curled under Jensen like a loyal dog, staring up at the sky Jensen made for him.

No, Jared finally decides, after nearly a month of questioning. He wouldn't have found anyone to love up there. Jared didn't pass someone like Jensen up while he was fucking his way through life; there's no one like Jensen. He doesn't need to go back to the surface at all. 

_This_ is the real thing.

Jensen yawns as he walks in and around the table Jared's sitting at, taking the empty chair to his right. "See, that's something I've never understood," Jensen says, covering his mouth as he yawns again. "What's the point of playing chess against yourself? It's not like you can trick you. It seems kind of futile."

"It's actually really valuable," Jared replies, only half of his attention focused on Jensen, the other half on the game. "You always have to imagine your opponent can read your mind in chess and try to outsmart that. So having an opponent who literally can read your mind is the best training."

Jensen chuckles softly and watches a few seconds longer, until Jared looks up at him. "I would, of course, welcome an actual opponent. If that's what you're angling for."

"Ah, what the hell," Jensen says.

Jared sets up a new game and sits back. "I'm excited," he says. "I love chess. I've missed having someone to play chess with."

"Please tell me you didn't have chess buddies topside, Jay. I will judge you."

"My 85-year-old uncle and I were bros, okay?" Jensen snorts, so Jared keeps going. "Hey, seriously. I'd kick his ass at chess and then we'd go pick up chicks."

"Oh yeah?" Jensen asks, raising an eyebrow. "I bet you were catnip to the ladies."

"Well, okay, my uncle did a little better in that department. But you should have seen the guy. He was in great shape for his age."

"Mmmhmm," Jensen says as he makes his first move. "The fact that you weren't attracted to them didn't ever hurt your chances?"

"If it did, I certainly never noticed," Jared replies, winking as he slides a pawn up two spots.

Jensen looks very engrossed for the next minute, and Jared thinks he's trying to choose a good move, but the expression doesn't change after his turn. Finally he says, "Do you miss it yet?"

"What? Life on the surface?"

Jensen nods.

Jared thinks it over while he moves his bishop right into one of Jensen's pawns. "Sometimes, yeah. I miss being out in the sun and stuff. Don't really miss people, but I guess…I guess I sort of wish I had a chance to change that? Kind of eye opening, going underground and realizing there's a good chance no one's noticed."

Again, Jensen nods. When he doesn’t add anything, Jared asks, "What about you?"

"See, that's the weird thing," Jensen says as he moves again. "I don't really."

"I'm betting that's all thanks to my good company," Jared jokes.

Jensen smiles at him. "It doesn't hurt."

"What else?"

Licking his lips, Jensen replies, "I think I got to miss out on a lot of being felt sorry for. That's wrong, right? That I'm kind of glad I didn't have to do that part?"

Jared shrugs. What the hell does he know about it?

"I don't think I could have handled my grief and everyone else's. I'm glad they shoved us down here before it could start."

"I get that," Jared says. He also gets Jensen's rook.

A small smile appears in the corner of Jensen's mouth, even as he's cursing Jared's move. "You do, don't you? I like that about you."

Jared laughs. "That I'm antisocial so I share in your desire not to have to engage with people's emotions?"

"When you put it that way," Jensen replies. He finally eats one of Jared's pawns, but the satisfied smile that gives him vanishes immediately when he realizes he fell into Jared's trap. Jared takes another bishop.

Jared sets the pieces aside and looks up at Jensen. "This whole thing is pretty bizarre, if you think about it."

"What whole thing? Us being stuck in a missile silo, or the fact that you're this much better than me at chess?"

"No, those things are to be expected." Jensen gives him a flat, unimpressed look, which makes Jared grin. "I meant this whole war."

"Fuckin' Switzerland," Jensen mutters under his breath.

"To think, we could have prevented this whole thing so easily if we hadn't just _believed them_ when they said they were neutral."

"You have to give them props for thinking of it," Jensen says. "And holding the façade up so long while they stockpiled weapons."

"Yeah, but, like…" Jared runs a hand through his hair, then throws it in the air in frustration. "We let them build a machine that can create a black hole! What were we thinking?"

Jensen laughs. "Right?" He sighs. "Goes to show you can't trust anyone."

"No one named Othmar Von Arx, at least."

"It is a little super villain-y, now that you mention it." Jensen shakes his head. "You've gotta hand it to someone who can declare himself emperor of a tiny landlocked country and then conquer Europe, parts of Russia, and the Middle East all in the span of five years."

"Black hole machine," Jared reminds him. "That's not fair."

"He who controls the science controls the universe," Jensen replies with great pomp.

Jared nearly plants his face in his palm at that. He settles for taking another rook, instead. "And the people love him!"

"He's done the Swiss a lot of good," Jensen admits reluctantly. "They're the only goddamn people on the planet he seems to give a single shit about, but they're living it up at everyone else's expense, so I guess I get it."

Jared bites his nail. "Do you think it's true that we would have signed for peace if they'd surrendered him up after San Francisco?"

"I don’t know, Jared," Jensen says glumly. "A part of me hopes not. He wasn't the only one responsible. But on the other hand—"

"On the other hand, World War III is scary shit?"

Jensen nods. "I do miss peace," he says. "If this whole stupid mess had never happened, I'd probably be a dad in a few years. Instead I live in a glorified hole in the ground."

Jared frowns. He's sad for Jensen, for everything he's lost. And in a way, he's sad for himself, too. He doesn't really regret the things that led him here, even though he knows he should. He can't help being glad he met Jensen.

So he lets the conversation drop before he says anything as horrible as what he's thinking. They play for about an hour and a half before Jensen clears his throat grandly, as if he's about to make a very important announcement. Jared looks up, riveted.

"I am not very good at chess."

Jared cracks up until finally he can get himself under control. "That's an understatement."

"You did not warn me that you're, like, a master or something."

"Well, I would have if you'd mentioned that you sucked."

Jensen huffs. "I don't know if I would say that I _suck_."

Jared grins and continues, "I mean, nuclear physicist. I figured, how bad can he possibly be? Pretty bad, it turns out."

"Oh, shut it." He pushes the board away. "Anyway, you cheated."

"How did I cheat?" Jared asks. "Being better than you does not count as cheating."

Jensen opens his mouth and closes it a few times. Finally he says, "I'm tired. Of course I'm gonna suck."

Jared appraises him, feeling the wrinkle between his eyes form as he frowns. Jensen looks like something dead reheated in a microwave. True, he looks like a very attractive version of that, but still. "Have you slept at all in the last three months?"

It's easy to see Jensen contemplating whether or not he can get away with lying. Finally he shakes his head. "Not much."

"You can't sleep on that shitty cot forever," Jared tells him. "Let's switch off tonight, okay? Just one good night of sleep and then you can go back to whatever kinky masochistic deal you and the cot have worked out."

Jensen laughs, but his eyes get cagey. "That's fine, Jared. Really, I sleep enough."

"Enough to not be dead," Jared concedes. "Not enough to avoid being a zombie all day, and I don't know that I feel all that comfortable with entrusting the most powerful nuclear warhead on the planet to a zombie."

"That sounds like—" Jensen has to pause to yawn, which is Jared's whole point. "—discrimination."

"Dude."

Jensen rubs his hands over his eyes and frowns. "Look, I can't, okay? I can't sleep in that bed. She chose that fucking bed. It's her bed and she's not gonna be in it, and I just can't do it."

Jared fiddles his thumbs, debating whether or not he should push this. He knows it's not his place. But Jensen is wearing himself ragged trying to live like this. "It's my bed."

Jensen's eyebrows draw together as he looks up very quickly and catches Jared's eyes. "What?"

"It's my bed. I'm the only person who has ever slept in it. I've been sleeping in it for months. So it's mine, and I'd like you to take it tonight, because I'm seriously worried about you."

He watches Jensen's foot jiggle under the table for what feels like forever as Jensen thinks it over until finally he says, "Would you…would you share it with me?"

Jared feels his cheeks flush, and he wants to punch himself, because he knows Jensen must not mean it like that. But he can't help the thoughts that pop into his head. "You want me to sleep with you?"

"I'm sorry," Jensen says. "I'm sorry. That was weird. That was a weird thing to ask for."

"No, look, I used to sleep with guys all the time," Jared says, trying to sound reassuring. "I'm not one to think it's weird, I just..."

"If it's empty, I'm going to be thinking about her and how she's not there, and there's no way I'll sleep any better than in the cot. But if we share it—"

"If we share it, it's just a bed we're sharing so we can both sleep comfortably."

Jensen nods.

Jared gives him a fake smile and wonders if Jensen really has no idea how cruel it is to ask Jared to sleep next to him knowing Jensen will be wishing he was someone else. "Of course, Jen."

When they settle in that night, he can feel the warmth of Jensen's body under the covers. Jensen falls asleep long before Jared does—which makes Jared feel all kinds of smug because _he told Jensen_ he needed a proper bed.

Jensen curls in until his back is so close that Jared can't get comfortable without wrapping an arm around him. Jensen only draws in closer at the contact, making a content sound as he settles against Jared's chest. The weight of him sparks something that spreads all the way through Jared's body.

It's not that he's turned on. Someone like Jensen rolled up in his bed—Jared expected to be turned on. But it's so much worse than that, because there's an ache in his chest that he's never felt before. An ache he only suspects he knows the name of.

It's a crack all the way down Jared's heart.


	2. Part Two

Six months later, Jared is fully prepared to admit just how much he fucked up. He does wonder on occasion if maybe the world ended before he came down here after all, if the bomb went off so fast Jared never even realized he was dead. That would explain it pretty well. He spent his whole life being one cold bastard, so it figures that this is his Hell.

For a guy who thought he had no heart to speak of, Jared's apparently going to spend the rest of eternity two inches away from someone he loves—nobody else around to distract himself with, no hope of snapping out of it, and no chance he'll ever measure up to what Jensen lost—but will never, ever, ever get. He'd take rolling a rock uphill or a nice, intestine-eating eagle over this any day.

Jared doesn't know how long someone grieves the kind of loss Jensen suffered, but even if the instances of Jensen crying in his sleep have begun to decrease dramatically, that doesn't mean anything for Jared. He's glad Jensen's less unhappy, but he's not going to pretend he'll ever have a chance. Jensen's had perfect, and, whatever fondness he's got for Jared because proximity has forced it upon him, this isn't like that for him.

Every morning begins the same way. Jensen sleeps in Jared's arms with his face pressed to Jared's chest. It’s not weird, because they're the only people in their world and that makes it standard practice. Jensen needs the comfort, and maybe Jared would push him away for his own sake, but apparently that's not how being in love works.

Jared is up first, regardless of when and how they fell asleep. It's his favorite part of the day. It's the only time he gets to watch Jensen without restraint: the steady rise and fall, warm and trusting, so fucking stupidly gorgeous even when all Jared can see of him is the top of his head.

He wakes up bleary-eyed with his hair mussed and looks up as if just that little bit of effort is more than he can manage but he's pushing himself through it anyway for Jared's sake. He gives Jared a dim, sleepy smile and says, "Hi."

Every morning, hi. No variation on the theme: no hey, no good morning, just hi, like his poor, sleep-addled brain cannot aspire to more than that one syllable. It should be annoying or repetitive, but the predictability of it only makes it that much more endearing to Jared. Stupid, stupid, masochistic bastard that he is. Jared doesn't think he's wired to go through his day without it anymore. Jensen needs his coffee in the morning; Jared needs his hi.

Jensen starts running the scans while Jared makes coffee and breakfast, and they switch off, Jared handing Jensen a mug when he enters the lab, which Jensen takes as his cue to go eat. He smiles up at Jared when he smells the brew, and sometimes their fingers brush as he passes the drink over. Jared is twelve years old again, trying desperately to hide his first crush, and he doesn't care. That electric little touch is like food to a dying man.

It doesn't take long to check up on Baby (which is what Jensen has named the big, black warhead and Jared figures, fuck it, if they're the only two people left on Earth, the bomb definitely gets its own name). Most of the work was done before they got down here. They only have to make sure she's still in working condition, because waiting for the alert to sound has gotten old.

Jared has wondered from time to time if the war is over and they were simply forgotten down here. It's been nearly a year with no good or bad news, just silence. Not that he's complaining. Jared never had a thing to speak of up on Earth that even comes close to his life with Jensen. Okay, so maybe it's agonizing torture as well, but anyone who thinks Jared would give it up has never been in love.

They head to the living room (Jared has long since given up on trying to distance himself from thinking of this as a home by calling it the rec room) and spend a few hours eating shit. Jensen has made it through fifteen of his crossword books already and has begun rationing them out. Jared is working on a project for Christmas: they've got fifty years of backlogged copies of _The New York Times_ and he spends a little bit of time each day clipping the crosswords and pasting them into a new book for Jensen.

Then, at some point, Jensen gets bored with trying to be clever (his words, not Jared's) and takes a break from puzzling. He always announces it the same way. "Play a song for me, Jared."

Jared's guitar usually springs to his fingers unbidden at that point, because he loves playing and always has, and the fact that Jensen enjoys that sends him over the moon. Sometimes he has songs picked out nights in advance for Jensen and sometimes he wings it. Eventually, they usually end up working on one of Jared's originals, with Jensen singing the lyrics Jared used to keep under lock and key, too embarrassed to let anyone else know just how committed he was to his hopeless dreams of making it big.

Then Jared makes dinner while Jensen straightens the place up, sweeping and mopping and scrubbing (like a good little housewife, Jared jokes, and Jensen flicks dirty mop water at him). After, they might go back to reading quietly or they might watch a movie, or they'll sort through the silo's music introducing each other to favorites and fighting over what does or does not suck. 

More often than not, that leads to actual fighting, each of them scrambling to pin the other down. It's physical, like fucking, only it always ends before it gets to the good part, and sometimes Jensen will casually say something about his wife and Jared will feel like he's just been hit by a train. He lets himself forget that Jensen is in mourning sometimes, and that his chances of overcoming that are about as good as his chances of winning a Grammy. It's easier to be happy that way, but man does it make for some rough reminders.

Days don't pass quickly, but they pass well. Jared's not in any rush. He doesn't really care anymore if he ever sees the sun again, and he sees the stars every night thanks to Jensen. Okay, so it's perpetually spring and Lupus still looks like something someone shit out instead of an actual constellation, but it passes. Jared's got the best thing the world has to offer right down here with him, trapped so he has to give Jared the time of day. If the human race is content to sit up on the surface in the middle of this war forever, Jared's content not to push that button and not to breathe fresh air again, either.

Today, Jensen's hair sticks out in every direction. His lids hang heavily, but he grins, and Jared's heart stops right on schedule. He waits for his hi, but instead Jensen moves up very slowly without saying it, and Jared's worried Jensen's upset, that he did something wrong without knowing it, until Jensen lowers himself again, his lips meeting Jared's.

Jared freezes. Jensen's mouth is warm and sure against his, and he licks into Jared's, deepening it. Jared just lies there under him, completely limp, letting it happen but not giving back. He can't give back. He can't. What if this is a dream? How the hell is he supposed to look at Jensen tomorrow if he lets himself believe in this and then loses it?

Jensen is undeterred by the lack of response. He puts his hands on the sides of Jared's face, pulling him closer. The kiss is so passionate that finally Jared reaches up, gripping Jensen and not letting go as he begins to kiss back.

When finally they break away, Jensen blinks at Jared, his usual morning smile now nothing but a quirk up in the corner of his mouth. "Hi," he says.

Jared laughs, all of this crazy, hysterical joy exploding out of him because he doesn't know what the fuck is going on or how it could be happening, but it is. The inside of his chest feels like a fusion reaction going off—like the core of the sun, hot and bright, so much so that it'll burn him up in a second.

He grabs for Jensen and kisses him again, whispers, "Is this okay?" against Jensen's mouth, even though Jensen started it. Jared is still half-convinced Jensen will realize his mistake; Jared's not what he wants, he can't be.

But Jensen nods and leans in, his voice nervous and shaky. "I want you, Jared."

He takes Jared's hand in his and guides it down, as if Jared needs a map at this point. As if he hasn't spent the last nine months fantasizing about touching Jensen just like this.

Springing to action, Jared rolls Jensen onto his back, kissing him as he does it. On top of Jensen, Jared feels like the Emperor of Switzerland himself, minus the impressive facial hair and the chocolate-induced belly. He's been wanted plenty in his life, but this might be the first time someone tells him they want him and really means _him_. Jensen, Jared knows, is not the kind to fuck lightly, not even before he met his wife from what Jared has gathered. Sex means something to him that it never has for Jared, and the fact that Jensen's asking him for it must mean Jared is a lot more to write home about than he ever realized.

Jared grinds down on Jensen, their kisses only breaking so that he can sit up and pull his shirt off over his head. Jensen looks up at him with these wide eyes, pupils blown up too big. He puts his hand right on Jared's chest, a touch that goes straight to his dick, but even through how turned on he is, he doesn't miss the gesture when Jensen presses his palm up, over Jared's heart. He wraps his own hand around that one, squeezing it, and Jensen smiles so soft and tender that Jared is floored by it.

"I want you," he says again. "I love you, Jared."

Jared lets out a sound he didn't even know he could make and comes back down, lips crashing on lips like a wave on the sand. "I love you, too," he tells Jensen between kisses. "I've loved you for so long."

Jensen's dick is hard against Jared's thigh, and he slips his hand down and into Jensen's boxers, curling his fingers around it. He doesn’t need to see it to know it's as gorgeous as the rest of him: long and lean and already wet at the tip. Jared wonders if it's got the same pink flush Jensen's cheeks do right now, and then he remembers he's allowed to look at that, so he pulls back and shoves the thin cloth between him and Jensen all the way down Jensen's legs.

Hands holding tight to Jared's ass, Jensen thrusts up, his legs spreading wider to make more room now that the fabric isn't in the way. "Please," he begs. "Please, please."

"Oh god," Jared says. He can hardly think enough to reach for the nightstand, grabbing a bottle of lube that's been for nothing but the occasional jerk off session since the world ended. His fingers are wet in seconds and he pushes one into Jensen, already addicted to the moans Jensen makes in the back of his throat.

By the time he's got three fingers inside, Jensen is writhing on him, his mouth open and panting and his pleas so desperate they could probably make Jared come all on their own, but he's not giving them a chance. He curls his fingers against Jensen's sweet spot one more time and then slowly draws them out.

"You're sure about this?" Jared asks as he takes off his boxers and slicks up his dick.

Jensen nods, biting his bottom lip. "God, yes. Fuck, Jared, please."

Jared's not a guy who needs to be asked twice. He pushes Jensen's shirt up to his armpits, lowering his mouth to kiss and then lick at a nipple. Jensen gasps, his body shaking so perfectly under Jared's mouth. But then he surprises Jared. Sweet, gentle Jensen fists a hand in his hair, pulling him up for a bruising kiss.

He lines his cock up with Jensen's ass and shoves in, the first second so overwhelming he actually has to hold himself still for a good minute or so, or he'll lose it. It's not like it escaped him just how long it's been since he fucked, but the tight warmth of Jensen around him, the glazed look of Jensen's green eyes and that sore, fucked up mouth after nine months of celibacy and pining are more than he can stand.

Jensen's hand curls, stroking gingerly over Jared's cheek as Jared takes deep breaths to steady himself. Finally, he pulls out and pushes back in, nice and slow, the way he suspects Jensen prefers it. He's never done this before—not in all his hundreds of fucks did Jared ever take the time to pay attention to what his partner likes or doesn't, to worry about if they want it rough or calm and thorough. He's never made love, and, cheesy as it sounds, he knows that's what he and Jensen are doing now.

"Jared," Jensen whispers, as if he's been waiting years for Jared, which is just fucking ridiculous. Jared's the one who's been waiting. Dying for this, for Jensen.

He rolls his hips in a measured pace and listens for what makes Jensen's muted groans grow louder. He's not a patient guy usually, not when his cock is running the show, but for Jensen he's going to make it good, even if it takes the next 12 hours to get Jensen there.

Jensen pulls his legs up, holding them by the ankles, and Jared thrusts hard into him, so goddamn taken with the sight of Jensen offering himself up like that. Jensen smiles, turning his face into his pillow. Jared knows he's found Jensen's prostate, so he repeats the action with even more force, and Jensen lets out a cry of pleasure that Jared hopes he'll remember for the rest of his life.

It's amazing the way Jensen takes him, his eyes locked on Jared every time they're about to kiss, a look in them that says Jensen trusts him completely to do this right. So he does, fucking Jensen in that deliberate way he seems to enjoy so much until he can't hold back any more. He comes in a strong rush that leaves them both breathless.

Then he pulls out and works his mouth down Jensen's chest, salty sweat delighting his tongue as he circles the same nipple he'd only gotten started on before. Jared can imagine the torture Jensen's going through, his hands gripping the headboard tightly now as he keeps them away from his dick. He wants to promise the wait will be worth it, that he's gonna take care of Jensen, but he doesn't need to. Jensen already knows.

When he finally reaches Jensen's dick, Jensen is bucking up into thin air, begging for relief. Jared pushes his hips down into the mattress and licks tentatively at the head of Jensen's dick, making eye contact as he does so. Jensen looks shattered, his eyes fluttering shut and his breath leaving him in one gratified moan. He takes Jensen deep and sucks him slow, fingers playing with Jensen's balls and his tongue fucking at the slit as he pulls up.

It's Jared's name that Jensen says as his orgasms hits, not as a shout like Jared intended, but in a loving little whisper instead. It's better. It's so much better than anything he could have imagined in all his thousands of fantasies. He comes back up feeling like he just conquered the world and pushes his face against Jensen's chest for once.

Jensen plays absently with Jared's hair as they both recollect their wits, but Jared's too stunned by the whole thing to even try to talk or get out of bed for the day.

Finally, Jensen says, "I think you saved my life, Jared."

Jared looks up, propping his chin on Jensen's chest. "What do you mean?"

"I was dead," he says. "When we first got down here. I was so miserable that I was hardly a ghost of myself, and if anyone else had come down that hatch with me, I still would be. You and your stupid pick-up line." He laughs, shaking his head, but then he looks down at Jared with an expression that isn't kidding around. "I'm so fucking lucky they picked you."

On their first anniversary, Jensen makes breakfast for once. Jared goes into the kitchen and finds two plates set up on the table, one Twinkie sitting on each. Jensen seems very pleased with himself for that, and Jared would tell him he's not that cheap a date if he could just stop smiling long enough to do it.

Apparently, it's a tradition. He wakes up to the same treatment a year later, one Twinkie per person, Jensen preening like the smug bastard he is. Jared tries not to wonder just what the hell they're gonna do on their anniversaries when that one box of Twinkies runs out as he drags Jensen in for a kiss—they both taste like sugar and whatever non-food goes into Twinkies—and doesn't let him go until Jensen reminds him they have a baby to take care of.

The missile's inspection doesn't take any longer than usual but Jared doesn't let Jensen lead him out to the living room when they're done. Instead, he pulls him back by the wrist and guides Jensen down a path, up the stairs, until they're standing right at the top of their warhead. They stroll slowly up and down the metal planks, arms linked as Jared points in every direction and tells him about the park he used to spend so much time in before they came down here.

He's kissing Jensen against the cool steel of a railing when he gets the idea to mark the warhead, just in case it ever does get fired. Yeah, maybe it'll wipe out the world, but it brought him and Jensen together, so it's not all bad. He wants some of the good to show on it—what can he say, he's fond of the damn thing.

"What are you doing?" Jensen asks when Jared takes his keys from the pocket of his lab coat.

Jared sends him a mischievous smile and begins to carve away the black paint, leaving scratched, silver letters behind instead. "What's it look like I'm doing? I'm using this here oak tree to let the world know."

Jared

♥

Jensen

When he pulls back and surveys his handiwork, Jensen laughs. "Jared," he scolds, but when he takes the keys from Jared, he doesn't tuck them into his pocket again like Jared's expecting. Instead he steps to where Jared was a moment ago and carves a big heart around their names, an arrow head sticking out at the bottom and its ass up in the air on the opposite side. "You forgot something."

Jared keeps waiting for the day he gets used to this feeling, but he's not any closer now than he was two years ago. They come back to their warhead-slash-love-tree for a picnic that night, and when they're done, they fuck under the stars.

Jensen's favorite game these days is to name a city and then try to dream up what it's like up there right now, how he and Jared might meet and fall in love, or what they would get up to on a trip. He found a map of the world, one so big it takes up the whole wall behind their couch; its span is greater than Jared's arm's stretched out twice over.

It's old, too, maybe from the Cold War, when the most basic layout of this bunker had originally been carved out. Russia is called the U.S.S.R. and is even bigger than Switzerland is today, and Switzerland is so small it seems boggling to Jared that things have shifted in what really hasn't been a very long time. This map was current about 150 years ago, and now he can hardly recognize how places match up with their modern day equivalents.

"Egypt," Jensen says idly as he plays with Jared's hair. They're cuddled up on the sofa, which is really too small for this, Jared's head resting in Jensen's lap and body draped over the rest of the couch and Jensen sitting at the far left corner with a book he apparently got tired of reading in his hand. "What about Egypt?"

Jared thinks for a few seconds and grins. "I went to Egypt on an archaeological dig because I'm as hot as Indiana Jones only without the pansy fear of snakes…"

"Uh huh," Jensen says skeptically. Jared made Jensen watch the Indiana Jones movies about a year into living down here, when Jensen told him he'd never seen them because he wasn't into 'old timey shit,' and Jared had immediately regretted it. Apparently Jensen's aversion to old timey shit did not extend to Harrison Ford when he was still young.

"It's true, you'll see it yourself. Because we have to fight snakes to get out of the pyramids and I do it bravely while you cower."

"Ignoring how the snakes even got into a pyramid in Egypt, what am I doing there?"

"Well, you're a mummy, of course."

"I'm a mummy?" Jensen asks flatly. "You're killing me off?"

"Yes." Jensen angles his head so Jared can see his glare, so Jared continues, "And no! See, you're a cursed mummy, and you wake up when I discover you and fall instantly in love with my strapping looks and great hair and my Indiana Jones whip, because, seriously, who isn't into that?"

"Come near me with that whip and I'll show you," Jensen replies.

Jared makes a serious face. "I would never. Your bandages would get ruined and then you would shrivel up, my sweet mummy love."

"This is just getting creepy, Jay."

Jared ignores him. "Yes, I would bring you back to America so that you could be on display in a museum, but then you would reveal to me that you were alive and I would love you despite your being gross and mummified, such is my devotion."

"God, you're a moron," Jensen mutters, but he picks up the box on the end table next to the couch, the one full of push pins, and picks one out, moving up to stick it through Egypt on the map. 

Jensen marks off every place they go like this. So far there are pins all over the map: the north pole (where Jared was an abominable snowman, so Jensen's really got no place to be upset about the mummy thing), New Zealand ( _no way we're not going to Middle Earth_ , Jared says, and Jensen tells him that he really needs to stop watching so many old movies), 45 of the 50 states.

"How about Paris?" he says when he settles back into his spot. "How's Paris doing these days?"

"Oh, you know, thriving."

"Thriving?" Jensen snickers. "Thriving through the apocalypse?"

"They've made a real art out of survivalist fashion. The things Pierre Lacroix can do with a trash bag and some empty cans of Spam."

"Oh, you _are_ a homo."

Jared nods proudly. "Through thick and thin, mon cher."

"And you fled America when you realized we were just not going to be up to your fashion standards during this whole apocalypse thing, only to meet me there."

"What are you doing in France, if you're so butch?"

"Hold on I'm thinking," Jensen says. After a few seconds, he snaps his fingers. "Got it. I hid out in the caves of France to avoid the nuclear fallout, then walked to Paris when I heard there were people there."

"Where do we meet?" Jared asks, sitting up.

Jensen grins. "Stranded on top of the Eiffel Tower, of course. The radiation zombies are too lazy to climb that many stairs, and we're the only two people who figured this out. So we live up there, returning to the ground only on occasion for food and when you drag me to fashion shows."

"This is brilliant. You dream us out of being stuck underground only to strand us over ground on the world's ugliest architectural structure."

"You're impossible to please," Jensen murmurs. "I thought you'd prefer being above ground. Closer to the stars, right?"

"Not high enough to make any kind of perceptible difference," Jared says, just to be a spoilsport.

"Wanna go to Mars, Jared?" Jensen kisses him and smiles. "You should be an astronaut. Up there in the stars. Why aren't you? You love them. You're smart enough. The guys on the space station still get to avoid dying if the bombs went off."

Jared shrugs. "I wasn't recruited by NASA, I was recruited by Jim. Anyway, being an astronaut is about as useful as climbing the Eiffel Tower. You don't actually get closer to the stars. Not on Mars, either. They're too far for us puny humans to make a difference."

Jensen frowns. "I'd take you to see them."

Jared shakes his head. "Stars are like people. You don't want to get too close. They burn you up when you get too close. That's what I always used to like about them. I could always trust them not to…"

Jensen's fingers stroke gently over his cheek and Jared laughs uncomfortably, looking away. Jensen's too close right now, looking at him like he can read Jared's mind, and as much as Jared loves that about him, it still scares him sometimes. He used to be so safe from shit like this.

"I'll take you to Ecuador," Jensen says. "We went there on our honeymoon. You'll love it, Jared. All these animals you can't even imagine, and at night. Maybe you don't get closer to the stars, but even I could tell how many more there were out. I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful."

"I had a boyfriend in college who said the same thing," Jared says, which is kind of an exaggeration, because Osric hadn’t been his boyfriend. He was just a cool guy Jared dated until he asked Jared where 'this' was going and Jared had said 'hopefully to the bedroom,' and Jared never got why he stopped answering Jared's calls after that until right now. "But he was studying astrology, I don't think he knew I would care. He went abroad and wouldn't talk about anything else when he got back."

"He was right," Jensen says, his fingers moving lazily on Jared's arm. "I wish I could take you there."

Jared shifts in his arms and smiles at him. "We could go to Alaska and see the northern lights. I wouldn't be able to decide what to look at, you or the borealis. You're just that pretty."

Jensen huffs out a laugh and pushes Jared's shoulder. "Fine, make a joke out of it." He stands up, sticking pins into Paris, Ecuador, and Alaska and then walking to the door. "I'm gonna start up dinner, yeah?"

"Yeah," Jared says, smiling as he watches Jensen leave.

The smile drops as soon as Jensen's out of the room, and he fiddles his fingers, glaring jealously at the map as if it's competition. He wonders what it means that Jensen loves this so much, if it's just a way to pass time, or if Jensen really is that desperate to get out. If he needs Paris and Greece and Rome to be happy and in love, because Jared doesn't, all he needs is Jensen. He takes a red pin and drives it through Texas, right over where their silo is. It's the only place he can really believe in love. The only place he needs, though.

Jensen sticks his head back into the room. "Did you want burgers or—?" He stops when he sees Jared messing with the map, and Jared steps back, wondering if Jensen will be upset. The pin over Texas—that's not how this works, and he knows it. But when Jensen stops by his side to look and sees what Jared's done, his smile goes all warm and gooey and he turns to Jared with a fond expression, like he knows exactly what it means and likes it. Jared stops wondering for a few seconds if he's enough for Jensen, because Jensen kisses him like he's _too much_.

Of course, everything has to go wrong eventually. Life is not perfect, not forever, and it has been for longer than Jared deserves.

It happens on their third anniversary. Jensen brings the box of Twinkies out, frowning for once instead of his usual smile. "There's only enough for one more year after this," he says.

Which, okay, bummer, Jared thinks, because it's a nice tradition and he likes it. But he can live without Twinkies. The only thing he cannot live without is Jensen. So he makes some joke and brushes it off and tries to pretend Jensen's smile doesn’t falter as soon as he starts to turn away.

The rest of the day goes on without a hitch, so Jared thinks it was just a weird moment until they're drifting off to sleep a few nights later.

"Do you ever wonder what happened up there?"

Jared shrugs, Jensen's head moving against his chest as he does so. "Not really. I figure we'll know when we need to know."

Jensen rises to his elbows and watches Jared interestedly. "You really aren't curious about it at all?"

"Well, sure," Jared says. "I guess. But what are we gonna do about it, go back up and check?"

He's laughing the suggestion off when Jensen nods. "Yes. I've been thinking about that a lot lately. I think we should."

A chill runs through Jared, nuclear winter in his veins. "What do you mean? We can't just go back up."

"Why not?" Jensen asks.

"We've got orders," Jared replies. "They told us not to do anything until—"

"We're scientists, not soldiers. We're supposed to question, not follow orders." Jensen smiles. "We could see the stars."

"We do see the stars," Jared answers weakly. "All the time."

Jensen laughs. "Ah, come on, Jay. You know what I mean. We could see the real stars, have a real oak tree, live in a real house. Maybe even eat real food on our anniversaries."

It doesn't matter that Jensen's tone is playful. Or maybe that makes it worse. This isn't real to Jensen. What they have isn't real to Jensen. Jared's never had anything this real, and Jensen's just tired of playing along.

He closes his eyes and tries to imagine it. All the things they've made up stories about. Kissing Jensen on the rim of the Grand Canyon, the sun sinking behind layers of weathered rock; spitting off the Empire State Building while Jensen hides his face and tries to pretend he isn't laughing as he scolds Jared and drags him away from the edge; a house, just a little yellow farmhouse with a busted wooden fence and a tire swing in the front yard, some kid with Jensen's eyes running up to him and calling him _dad_.

They're nice images, but Jared can't grasp any of them long enough for them to stick, long enough for them to seem like real possibilities. They evaporate behind memories of what life is really like up there: endless dinners alone in front of the television, his parents downstairs, not wanting to see him at their party; Jensen surrounded by friends and family, the people he's missed so much he's itching to run back up, and slowly forgetting Jared.

Jensen tells him all the time how much they would love him, how well he would get along with Chris or how his mother would take to him instantly, one look at those puppy dog eyes and five minutes to see how Jared appreciates a good meal and Jared would be her favorite son.

Jared's already more attached to the fantasy than he wants to let on. He yearns to be a welcome part of Jensen's family: to have a spot reserved every year at the Thanksgiving table, to sit next to that worn armchair Jensen's Pa has owned since Jensen was a baby and talk to him about baseball as if that's just a normal thing to do. Like people do with their dads, when their dads want anything to do with them.

But he knows how it would really go. He's seen pictures of Mrs. Ackles, has come to love that kind, worn face Jensen keeps in his wallet. He can't bear the thought that she'll be the one to pull Jensen aside and ask him if he's kidding himself, if he can actually compare Jared to what he had before and pretend he's happy. Maybe it'll be Chris, some night when he's had one drink too many and can't keep the thought in. More than likely, Jensen won't need to hear it from any of them. He's a smart guy. He'll be done with Jared before Jared gets a chance to even try to charm the friends and family.

It's a damn long time before Jared can trust himself to answer with a steady voice.

"We can't go up there, we don't know what's happened," says Jared, because he's not above keeping Jensen simply by virtue of the fact that Jensen has no choice. "They could have all burned up so quickly they didn’t even have time to tell us to retaliate. We might find a barren wasteland—radiation will poison us, we'll get sick. If we even open the hatch we'll let it in. We can't just risk that."

"It might be the same as when we left up there," Jensen counters. "For all we know, people are driving around half a mile above our heads, business as usual, and we're down here acting like the world has ended."

"It wasn't such a great world," Jared mutters. "I thought ours was a pretty good alternative."

"This isn't any kind of life," Jensen says. "Not for this long a time. It wasn't supposed to last this long. They can't really expect us to live down here forever."

"Why not?" Jared frowns. "Is this really so bad?"

Jensen's eyebrows draw together and he climbs up, trying to kiss Jared, but for the first time ever, Jared turns away from him. "Jared, you're taking this the wrong way. I'm not saying that this is bad." He takes Jared's hand and brings it to his lips. "Hey, look at me. This is great. This is so much better than it has any right to be, all things considered. And I do love you. You make me happy."

Jared laughs coolly, shaking his head. He can't help thinking: Jensen signed up for this, knowing all along that living down here for years was a possibility. When it was going to be with her, that was fine with him. Hell, he'd made plans to raise his kids and everything. It's only him that Jensen doesn't want to be stuck down here with, and damned if Jared isn't jealous of the dead and unborn. "Not enough, apparently."

He doesn’t even know why he's surprised or disappointed. He always used to be so good at reminding himself that he's not enough for Jensen. He got lazy over the last three years. He started to let himself believe Jensen didn't think so.

"How can you say that?" Jensen asks, brushing hair away from Jared's eyes. "It's because of you that I want to go back. It's because I love you and I want a life with you that I'm even thinking of this."

"You can't go up. You'll get sick. You'll die. I won't let you risk yourself."

Jensen shakes his head. "Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. Even if I do, I'll live for years before the sickness gets to me. I'm gonna die someday regardless, might as well be radiation."

"Don't fucking joke about this," Jared snaps.

"You know I'm the last person in the world to joke about something like that. But I mean it. I don't think the world ended up there, Jared. You, the way I feel about you, it's reminded me that people aren't all bad. I believe they found a way, if not to peace to at least some temporary solution. But if they didn't—well, you and me being the last people on Earth isn't any better to bear in the dark than it is in the sunlight, is it?"

"Yes," Jared says. "At least this way there's a chance—"

"There's a chance if we risk it, Jared. And it could be great. They'll be pissed at us for disobeying and coming back and putting the operation in jeopardy, maybe, but we won't be ending the world. I don't want to blow it up anymore; I want to live in it with you. Just think, we can find new lives—Jared, you could play your songs for people. They've gotten so good, it's not right that no one else gets to hear them. And me—I think the part of my life that belonged to this kind of work is behind me, and I think I'm finally okay with that."

It occurs to him that there is a very easy solution to this problem. All he has to do is walk into the next room, put one finger's worth of pressure down on that launch button, and end this conversation for good. He could keep Jensen all to himself, and the fact that it's so tempting doesn't scare or surprise him as much as it should.

"I can't talk about this anymore," Jared says, pushing Jensen off of him. "I'm gonna sleep on the cot tonight."

Jensen tries to catch him by the wrist, but Jared tugs his hand back and leaves. It's been years since they tucked the cot away, but Jared brings it out to the launch control room and sets it under the stars. Under the stars Jensen made for him, which are his favorite ones, even if Jensen's outgrown them.

He hears the door creak open early the next day, but Jared is already sitting up, caffeinated and halfway through the daily tests. He's been up since what would be the crack of dawn, if such things still existed, trying his damnedest to keep his mind and hands busy, his finger off the trigger.

Sleep didn't really happen the night before, half because he couldn't turn his brain off and half because the damn cot really is that uncomfortable. Remembering that Jensen managed to sleep on it for months just to avoid Jared only made him feel more sour about the whole thing.

Jared doesn't turn toward the noise—it's not like there are a whole lot of options on who it could be coming in. "Go away. I've got it under control today."

Jensen takes the chair next to Jared anyway, swiveling so it's facing him and sliding his hand onto Jared's wrist. "Morning."

"I said go away," Jared replies, keeping his eyes glued to the graph he's working on and pointedly not letting himself look at Jensen. "I'm working."

"You?" Jensen says with a laugh. "You're working? Jared of the 'who cares if we fuck instead of recording data it's not like anyone is going to want to see our charts after the world ends' Padaleckis is too busy working?"

"You bet." Jared turns a page over to mark something, shaking Jensen's fingers off of him.

Jensen is as stubborn as Jared is, so he leans in, his lips brushing Jared's ear. "We could do much more fun things than work, couldn't we?"

"Not really," Jared answers. "Maybe later."

Jensen sits back, letting his hand drop onto his thigh. "I can't believe it. You're actually mad at me."

"Mad," Jared says, trying to make himself laugh. "Who's mad? You had an idea. It was a shitty idea. The conversation's over."

"Oh, is that how it happened?" Jensen asks, a little bit of heat now creeping into his voice.

Jared finally looks up at him, his expression tight, and he meets Jensen's eyes, challenging him to disagree. Jensen's attitude changes completely, from being somewhat amused by Jared's bad mood to pulling back, like he didn't realize until just now that this isn't just something they're going to joke their way out of.

"Jared?" he says, his voice much softer. "Why are you so upset about this? It was just an idea."

"Maybe to you it was just an idea," Jared replies. He looks up through the window at the warhead and laughs, shaking his head. "You don't even care what it was to me."

"I don't—of course I _care_." Jensen is looking at Jared now like he doesn't even recognize him, and Jared knows, he knows he must sound crazy to Jensen. But Jensen never knew Jared before, he's never seen the way Jared pushes people away. He was never supposed to see it.

"It's okay, right?" Jared tells him, trying to smile, trying to be soft and open and all the things he has to be to compete with the rest of the world. "We're both adults, and adults have disagreements. We can just forget it ever happened and be happy again."

"I can't forget it happened," Jensen replies. "It's what I want. Even if you don't want it. Even if we decide not to do it. We need to talk about it. We're partners, aren't we? We can at least have the damn conversation before you say no."

"I'll give you anything else," Jared responds. "Anything else, Jensen. Please, not—not what you said you wanted yesterday. Pick something else."

"What are you scared of?" Jensen says. He puts his hand on the back of Jared's neck, and Jared closes his eyes, his whole body so desperate to relax under the touch. "You think I can't take down a few zombies to keep you safe?"

Jared looks at him out of the corner of his eye, and he can't help that his lips turn up just a bit when he sees Jensen's coaxing expression.

"I'm not scared of zombies," he says in a petulant tone.

That makes Jensen grin like he's getting somewhere, and he pulls Jared's face closer to his by his neck. "Talk to me, Jay. Just talk to me. Tell me what your problem with it is, and if you still want to stay, we'll stay. This doesn't have to be something we fight over."

The words are on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill, but then Jensen leans in and kisses him, pulls back with one of those adoring looks on his face, and Jared can't do it. Jensen looks at him like _he's_ the goddamn sun sometimes. It won't last a minute up there, not once Jensen remembers how low he's been settling.

Instead, he hands Jensen the clipboard with the graphs he's been working on and gives Jensen a forced grin. "Here, you finish these since you're so eager to be in here. I'm gonna go make lunch."

Jensen's mouth opens in shock, and then his expression shuts down as he watches Jared get up to go. "Yeah, okay," he says, his voice resigned, and Jared wants to take everything back and give Jensen anything to make him smile again. But that's not an option, not really, because it would mean taking the first step to losing him.

When Jensen comes out for lunch, it's his turn to give Jared the cold shoulder. He's not angry, not exactly, but he keeps his conversation short and withdrawn, and when Jared tries to lighten the mood, Jensen only looks betrayed and stays quiet or walks off entirely.

They eat dinner separately for the first time in years, and when Jared is done washing up, he finds Jensen in the living room, gazing off into space with a broken expression that reminds Jared too much of when they first got down here. When he was still mourning his wife, and Jared wonders if Jensen is mourning him, if in his attempt to keep things the way they are he's going to do just the opposite.

Delicately, Jared takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch from where Jensen is and waits. Even now, just hearing Jensen breathing next to him beats out the quiet hum of the generators anywhere else in the silo, and maybe Jensen feels the same way, because he doesn't get up, doesn't say anything, just sits with Jared for a long time, staring off.

"Do you still love me?" Jared asks after a while. "If I still say no. Have I made it so you can't love me?"

Jensen turns his face toward Jared then, not looking surprised by the question, just sad and weighed down, and almost like he's aged. Then he does the last thing in the world Jared's expecting, still without saying a word. He reaches out, puts his hand in Jared's lap, and waits for Jared to take it.

When Jared does, Jensen gives him a weak smile, and Jared breathes just a little easier. He knows what it means and wonders what he would have to do to make Jensen keep loving him once they reach the surface, if he even has it in him or if his instinct is right and he shouldn't even try.

Jared doesn't sleep much the next night, either. Jensen comes out to find him when he's changed into a loose shirt and boxers, doesn't vocalize the invitation, but waits to find out what Jared is going to do.

"I need another night to think," Jared tells him, pointing toward the launch control room. "It's just—I need to be alone for a little bit."

Jensen licks his lips and nods, looking down at the floor. He turns toward their room, but stops at the threshold, calling out and stopping Jared in his tracks.

"I'm always going to," he says, and Jared doesn't even have to ask to know that he's answering the question Jared had posed hours ago. "I just don't understand why you don't trust me to."

Jared watches Jensen retreat into their bedroom then, closing the door behind him with a click that echoes through the silo halls. It leaves him with nothing but himself, his own ugly thoughts and wishes, and he stares up at the glow-in-the-dark sky, trying to parse out what the right thing to do is.

Deep down, he knows he's being selfish. He tells himself it's the radiation, the violence up there, and the chance that Jensen will be incinerated the second he opens the door. But that's not true. He's more scared the world _is_ still up there, healthy and happy and ready to take them both back with open arms.

It's not because Jared doesn't want what Jensen wants, either. He misses the surface sometimes, and the only reason he prefers life down here is because it got him Jensen. If he had Jensen up there, it would be a better life, he can admit to that.

The problem is that he can't have Jensen up there. Not forever. Probably not even for very long. Maybe Jensen thinks he loves Jared now, but Jared hasn't forgotten who they were when they first came down here. Jensen can love, he has so many times in his life. He can love like any person can love, intensely and without the world having to end first.

Not Jared. Jared's only ever loved one thing, but it's strong and he can't live without it. All he has going for him now is that he is—at least as far as Jensen is concerned—very literally the last man on Earth, and maybe Jared can hold onto Jensen down here, where he's got no competition, but on the surface, anyone could come along. Anyone could steal Jensen from him, and why wouldn't Jensen fall for someone else? Jared's nothing special. He couldn't even make his own parents love him. He can't keep someone like Jensen.

For one brief moment, he finds himself sitting up on the cot, staring at the work station across the room, and he's sure. The big red button on that control board, he's going to press it. He can end the world, and then Jensen really won't have a choice. Once they know for sure that the bombs have gone off, they'll have to wait years for the radiation to decay. Years, he could keep Jensen for years. What the fuck is the fate of everyone else on the planet compared to that?

He doesn't realize he's crying until the door opens, light filtering in from the hallway. Jensen sits down on the floor next to the cot and presses his lips against Jared's forehead. "Come back to bed, Jay," he says softly. "Come back to me. I don't want to fight. We don't have to talk about it. I'm sorry I brought it up, okay? I won't again, I promise."

Jared wants to take that promise and hold him to it, but he knows he can't. No, as soon as Jensen brought it up, the decision was as good as made. He can't keep Jensen here against his will. He wants to so bad, but he's got no right and he loves Jensen too much to do it, anyway. "We'll leave tomorrow."

"You don't want to go," Jensen says. "I'm not going to make you."

"But I can't make you stay, either." Jared wipes at his eyes and tries to get his voice under control. "So what are we gonna do?"

"I can't do it without you, Jared. And I don't just mean I need your permission to risk opening the hatch and letting radiation in, because, obviously, but that's just not what I mean. I mean I don't _want_ to do it without you. I never envisioned a life up there that didn't have you in it."

"I would follow you to the end of the earth," Jared finally admits. "But I'm scared you won't be with me when I get there."

Jensen's expression shifts, like he finally gets why Jared's so upset, and he sucks in a breath. "God, no, Jared. Jared. No. You think I—you don't know yourself very well at all. And if you think I'm going to forget about you, about everything we've shared in the last three and a half years, you don't know me very well, either."

Jared reaches out, grabbing a fistful of Jensen's shirt and shaking his head desperately. "No, I do. You're the only one, but I know everything about you. Please, that's all I know."

"Then you know you can trust me." Jensen kisses Jared softly, sliding in next to him and cradling Jared's head against his chest. "Trust me, Jay. I know it's risky to go up there, but I want to risk it. I think we can be happy. I think it's worth the chance."

"Nothing's worth the chance of losing you," Jared replies. "I just—I can't lose you."

"There's no chance of that," Jensen promises. "Not the way that you think, at least."

Jensen stands up, holding onto Jared's hand as he does so. "Come back to bed with me, babe. We'll decide in the morning."

Jared nods sulkily and follows Jensen to their room. When they get there, Jensen kisses him slowly and pushes him into bed. He covers every inch of Jared with his mouth, whispering praises that Jared doesn't think are true, but Jensen is so meticulous as he lists every sweet thing that Jared can't imagine him wasting the time unless he means it. Jensen's not a friend of inefficiency.

By the time he's done, Jared really doesn't remember what he was so upset about. Well, he does, but he knows Jensen is right—that if he really loves Jensen, he should trust him, too. So the next morning when Jensen comes out for breakfast, he finds two plates on the table, the last Twinkies they have sitting on them.

Jared doesn't have to tell him what that means. Jensen looks from the food to Jared, his eyes wide and shining. The smile on his face is like nothing Jared's ever seen in his life. "You're sure?"

Jared nods, sitting across from him. "I'm still half-convinced we're gonna get doused in radiation and grow extra heads, but. I spent a lot of time thinking last night, and I finally decided…" Jensen watches Jared, hanging onto his every word, so Jared stops containing his smirk. "I decided we could think of some pretty creative ways to use extra heads, if you know what I'm saying."

Jensen snorts. "You came down here spouting shitty pick-up lines and that's how you're determined to leave, huh?"

He laughs, but then he clears his throat and makes himself look Jensen square in the eye. He's terrified, and his hands are shaking, and it's kind of hilarious considering they're smack in the middle of nuclear apocalypse and that's the farthest thing from what's terrifying him. "If you have hope and faith and believe in people enough to take the chance that things are still okay up there, I would have to be pretty low not to have a little faith in you."

Jensen takes his hand and kisses the back of it. "We're going to laugh about this with our grandkids one day," he whispers. "You and me and our hole in the ground and the time we thought the world ended."

"Yeah," Jared agrees, not sure he really does believe it, but training himself to let go of the doubt. "I guess we will."

Breakfast passes quietly, the intensity of what's coming hanging between them. Neither of them wants to talk about what they might or might not find up there, the fact that they're risking walking out into a wasteland or discovering they spent the last three years in hiding for no reason. They're doing this, and if they're doing this there's no point in scaring each other more about it.

They spend about two hours packing and another hour bickering over what they are or are not going to take: Jensen's map ( _how are you going to keep the pins in place, genius?_ ), a thousand newspapers worth of crossword puzzles, four notebooks full of new songs, and, after Jared takes the back of a hammer to the ceiling for a solid half hour, a small chip of the night sky.

Their eyes lock as Jared releases the air-tight door leading to the hatch they entered from, and that's it, there's no turning back. It's as final as if he'd launched Baby after all, but Jared's pretty sure he chose the right button to press.

It's a long climb back up to the surface, the sparse metal mine-shaft elevator that originally serviced the silo rusted out in the century between when it was built and when they started to update it, and apparently fixing it was not high enough on the priority list for it to get taken care of before the attack on San Francisco threw off the timeline.

Jared looks down as they make their way back up the twisting stairs, despite Jensen telling him not to. It's not vertigo that makes him move slower every time he sees the distance between them and the ground so much as the same worries and anxieties that almost had him ending the world.

Jensen catches him eventually, turning to say something to Jared and grabbing his hand instead, forcing Jared to look up at him. He leans in and whispers, "We're almost there. Are you ready?"

Jared nods, follows him up into the landing and down the hall toward the exit.

He kisses Jensen one last time in the safety of their silo, and then, hand in hand, they step out into the sunlight.


End file.
